


Symbiote

by Jaelijn



Series: Symmetry of Souls [3]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pre-Way Back, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Spoilers for Episode S03E08: Rumours of Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, of sorts, of sorts; tagging more for warning's sake, past Kerr Avon/Anna Grant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: The alien pathogen was the single greatest disruption of Federation society in living memory. Originally seeming so harmless, the virus had led to hereditary genetic mutations, and the new generation of Federation citizens had found themselves with a need for a mutual symbiote from puberty. By the time Avon was sentenced to spend the rest of his life on Cygnus Alpha, he was intently aware of that need.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Anna Grant, Kerr Avon/Vila Restal
Series: Symmetry of Souls [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758451
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Symbiote

**Author's Note:**

> Another soulmate fic! Still very fond of this trope and have been meaning to complete more of them for a while. I will say that this one is _not_ a comment on C-19 - weird contagions are an age old sci fi trope and one that seemed fun to use in this context. Enjoy!

The alien pathogen was the single greatest disruption of Federation society in living memory. Originally seeming so harmless – though the politics it had unearthed had led to the first real wave of dissidents – the virus had led to hereditary genetic mutations, and the new generation of Federation citizens had found themselves with a need for a mutual symbiote from puberty. Incompatibility couldn’t be overcome, not by medication nor surgery. A compatible symbiote had to be found within little more than a decade of coming of age, or the condition would, inevitably, be terminal. Humans without symbiotes rarely lived beyond their mid-thirties.

It shattered the grade separation: Humanity was forced to forge relationships across grades to survive, and many found that their symbiote relationships went far beyond mere biological compatibility. Science suggested that there was no way for a genetic mutation to know which people would get along, but it was still a scientific fact that symbiote relationships were overwhelmingly long-lasting and happy, whether they turned out to be intense friendships or romantic or sexual partnerships. This, of course, had given rise to unsanctioned, romanticised notions of the symbiote relationships: _soulmates_. 

Now that the third generation of symbiote-children was approaching adulthood, the policies were firmly in place. Certain genetic markers thought to indicate potential compatibility were recorded at birth. A vast database was established that automatically identified potential matches and released the information to the individual upon the time that both parties had come off age. Depending on the age at onset of puberty, that left most people without a symbiote for at least a couple of years, not counting the time to find the right match, but there was no indication of lasting health deficits resulting from a short wait.

By the time Avon was sentenced to spend the rest of his life on Cygnus Alpha, he was intensely aware of the _potentiality_ of a match. Since he had come of age, his life had been a numbing progression of potential partners, none of which had turned out to be his symbiote. The first, introduced to him on his eighteenth birthday, Avon hadn’t been able to stand for even a day. Then there were university colleagues – Tynus, with whom he got along well enough but whose presence brought no biological relief to either of them. Anna, who had been married, which meant nothing for symbiote compatibility – but everything for the fact that she _didn't_ turn out to be his his symbiote, but that Avon was desperately in love with her. She was dead, now, and without a true symbiote, Avon would be dead soon, too, even if the prison planet didn’t manage to kill him.

Sitting alone in the holding cell, Avon felt weary and _old_ , the first biological signs of symbiote withdrawal brought on by the harrowing experience of interrogation. From the onset of symptoms, he had a couple of years to live, at most, and little chance to find a match on a penal planet. Criminals weren’t afforded access to the registry database, nor were potential symbiotes informed of their existence. If you had a symbiote already, they were doomed to share your criminal sentence – after all, a criminal act in a relationship this close could not exist without both parties being aware of it. The symbiote gene had led to a rise in criminal duos. If you had no symbiote, well, you were out of luck - and so was your true match, unless they were one of the lucky ones that had multiple true matches, not that they would ever find out either way.

Avon had never felt particularly _lucky_ , so he could only appreciate the symmetry of losing both the love of his life and any chance to _live_ in one fell swoop. He did his best to shut out the conversations between symbiote partners all around him and slept through most of the wait for the transport. The fatigue, of course, was another symptom. It was six months to Cygnus Alpha? Eight? Either way, there was a chance he would never even reach the planet.

When they were herded to the transport, shuffling into line with the people from the other holding cell, Avon noted that he wasn’t the only one who was alone – but he better remember that not everyone who fell afoul of Earth’s justice system was an Earthling. Some colony planets had been spared the virus, had developed vaccines while under strict quarantine. Mainstream political propaganda suggested that they had missed out even while the Federation rejected the term _soulmate_ – the symbiote relationship was _right_ , was _beautiful_ , was what made Earth the core and height and heart of Federation power. It was all nonsense, of course. Even if the symbiote match _was_ made, the mutation was ultimately deadly – there was no surviving the death of one’s symbiote after a match was made, no matter how fulfilling the relationship had been before then. Yet when Avon was waved into his flight chair, he almost felt relieved. At least his aloneness would not make him the target of his fellow prisoners, and there was someone else who drew the attention of the guards, a man called Blake. A political prisoner? Avon couldn’t have cared less, except that it spared _him_ undue attention.

Still, even by the time they had reached stable flight and were allowed to file out into the prisoner accommodation, Avon couldn’t help but notice that he was feeling better. Better than he had in the holding cell, certainly, but better also than he had felt in months, as if there was some unseen force supporting him, lending him energy. Avon dismissed it as fanciful thinking, of course – there was no way, no logical reason why he should feel better, but it was becoming progressively harder to ignore that he _did_ as the days progressed.

There was no logical reason, unless somehow, by some insane coincidence, his symbiote was on board the _London_.

Avon found himself paying undue attention to his fellow single prisoners. Cramped as close together as they were, it was difficult to determine the origin of his sense of well-being, even if he hadn’t imagined the whole thing, so Avon began a process of elimination.

The sole woman – Stannis – was beautiful, but hardly of the personality Avon felt particularly drawn to. Besides, it turned out, she was space born. The quiet giant of a man, Gan, made no secret of the fact that he was colony stock. There was a young man – Nova? – from Earth who was barely eighteen and so had not been matched, but Avon led one conversation with him and found him plain, subservient, and frankly boring. Stupidity more than anything else had seen Nova sentenced to exile on Cygnus, so he hadn’t even the credit of being a clever criminal. Being in his company made no difference to Avon’s well-being. It was almost a relief.

Then, of course, Avon had to face the possibility that it was _Blake_. He felt the power of Blake’s personality, the deftness with which he drew people to his side and into his cause even while Blake seemed to vacillate between confusion and anger. Avon understood _why_ the Federation had had to get rid of him, but at the same time the resistor’s political naivety and hypocrisy of method repulsed him. If he threw in his lot with the man, which looked to be his best option at the moment, he would probably die with Blake, or have to get rid of him sooner rather than later. For Blake to be his symbiote would have been a cruel joke.

But it wasn’t Blake. In a conversation, half-overheard, Blake was talking through his memories of visiting colonial planets as a child. Colony born. Avon was barely aware of his sigh of relief.

After that, of course, his options had narrowed rather a lot. There was no way to tell whether his symbiote was one of the guards, no way to eliminate them, and then there was the thief, Restal. The man acted the idiot, the fool and the coward with consummate skill, switching back to the life-long criminal survival instincts at the blink of an eye so subtly that the others dismissed it as jokes. He was good at appearing harmless, but there was a cleverness behind that, a strategy that made Avon suspicious. The fact that Vila knew who Avon was without having been told didn’t help to alleviate the suspicion. And worse, Avon couldn’t find a reason to exclude Vila.

“Do you play chess?”

Avon looked up from his listless contemplation of his food ration. The meals were never appetising, but beyond his newfound sense of well-being, Avon barely took notice. He tended to eat late, preferring the relative solitude, and the dining area was practically empty. “Excuse me?”

Vila grinned at him. “I asked whether you could play chess.”

Avon lay down his spoon. “Of course. Why the interest, or are you trying to tell me that _you_ can?”

Though it hadn’t been, Vila took the response as an invitation to sit down. Avon felt some of the day’s tension ease from his shoulders and was almost tempted to recoil. It _couldn’t be_ Vila – but there was no reason why it couldn’t, and there was no one else close by. Did Vila know?

“It’s not just interest. ‘ve been looking for a partner,” Vila said.

Avon wrenched his attention forcefully back to the conversation. “It seems rather a moot point, given that we don’t have access to a chess set.”

“Well, there you are wrong, my friend,” Vila replied with a conspiratorial smirk. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pocket chess set. “Got this from one of the guards in the holding cell.”

“Stole it, you mean.”

Vila shrugged, unfolding the small board and setting up the figures. “Hardly matters. Will you play?”

Avon surprised himself by saying, “Yes.”

They didn’t talk about their mutual symbiosis until the claiming of the _Liberator_ pulled them apart and reunited them in orbit over Cygnus Alpha. The physical relief Avon felt at Vila’s renewed proximity was almost enough to overshadow the knowledge that by failing to run, by failing to get rid of Blake when he could, he’d become entangled in an impossible fight against all of the Federation.

“It seems like a lucky coincidence, doesn’t it?” Vila mused, reclining on Avon’s bed and toying with the tiny queen from the chess set he’d managed to somehow hang onto.

“Too much of one, really.” Avon placed down the component he’d been examining. “ _Why_ were you sentenced to exile on Cygnus Alpha?”

“I told you. They couldn’t readjust the thieving out of me.”

“But you’re still just a petty thief.”

“Hey!”

Avon waved him into silence. “No matter how good you claim to be, you have no ambition – not drive to steal from the Federation at a scale that would truly be a threat. And if they wanted to prevent it getting out that the re-education could be resisted, they could just as easily have killed you. You’re not a potential martyr, like Blake.”

“Well, aren’t you glad that they didn’t? I am!”

“Yes, I’m glad that you’re alive, Vila,” Avon said and let the matter drop, though the mystery stayed with him. He’d never liked unanswered questions.

It was only years later, after five days of deprivation and with Anna’s dying words still echoing in his ears – “I let you go, my love…” – that Avon had his answer. Thinking himself dead, he found himself instead teleported to the _Liberator_ and the immediate, profound relief of Vila’s proximity. Even as he drank down whatever it was that Vila had offered him, he knew, without question and doubt, _why_ Vila had been sentenced to exile on Cygnus Alpha. It had nothing to do with Vila at all, Vila simply wasn’t important enough.

Anna, however, had had full access to Avon’s file. Even as she had pretended to be one of his potential symbiotes, she had known the list of true potential matches, even those who had been blacklisted for juvenile criminal activity, had known that his time was running out. She had made him live by getting his sentence commuted to exile. She had made him live by putting one of his potential matches onto the prison transport with him. And she had been right.

Even as Avon buried his face in Vila’s neck that night he knew – she had _never_ let him go.


End file.
